


hold on to whatever you find

by admiraloftheships



Series: continuum [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Based on a John Mayer song, Continuum, Darker Tones, F/M, Flashbacks, Marinette has natural powers AU, Westworld - Freeform, adapted storyline from Westworld S1, disguising feelings, memory problems, the man in black - Freeform, will include some violence, will may some non-graphic death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiraloftheships/pseuds/admiraloftheships
Summary: AU: Akumas have been occurring in Paris for over a decade. Five years ago, Marinette was gifted the Ladybug Miraculous, only to be prevented by Tikki from using her powers. Usually, she wakes up the day after an attack with a pounding head and news that the akuma was beaten by strange red and black blurs. Not today. Today she wakes up injured, her mind a muddled mess, surrounded by mounting secrets. All the while, a strange, merciless figure in black stalks Paris, on his own hunt for revelation.Aged-up characters, probably around 24-28 years old.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Chloé Bourgeois, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: continuum [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705189
Kudos: 1





	hold on to whatever you find

**Author's Note:**

> No, I'm not the man I used to be lately  
> See, you met me at an interesting time  
> And if my past is any sign of your future  
> You should be warned before I let you inside  
> \- John Mayer
> 
> Summary: Marinette wakes up with a strange injury; Luka is confronted by a strange figure.
> 
> Note: Marinette never went to school with Adrien. Will be dark but not very graphic. Takes elements from the plot of Westworld season 1

The light seemed nearly blinding, coursing as it was through the half-open blinds and into Marinette’s eyes. She blinked, trying to ascertain where exactly she was and what the hell she was doing there. There was a blissfully numb sensation currently coating her body, but Marinette thought she could feel it fading as she breathed.

She sat upright, feeling herself rush headlong into consciousness. She was in her room, a small apartment that she rented on the east side of Paris. Haphazardly scattered sketches and concept work decorated the floor.

Marinette was trying to remember something. Something important. There was something she was forgetting.

Maybe it was something others eventually left alone, but not her. There was something that she needed to know, and eventually, she had to find out eventually. Her phone vibrated on her nightstand, and Marinette broke out of this reverie.

hellloo?

mari?

did you run off with someone last night or something?

Another 56 frantic messages from Alya were still waiting, cooped up in the confines of her phone. Squeezing her aching eyes shut against the glare of the phone screen, Marinette lowered herself back into bed.

“Not this morning,” Marinette mumbled to herself.

What she wasn’t quite expecting was for a sharp spike of pain to suddenly lance through her skull as her head touched the pillow. 

“Ah!” Marinette bolted upright, one hand hesitantly reaching over to the back of her head. Her fingers met a cotton...towel? Something firmly strapped to the back of her head. 

Marinette was beginning to feel more aware of what was around her. She could feel, now, cotton wrapped securely around her forehead as well, a continuation of the thing on the back of her head, which was beginning to throb with a low level of discomfort.

Unable to find herself capable of thinking straight, Marinette stumbled upright, making her way along the wall into the small toilet, fumbling fingers somehow finding the light switch on the wall.

The stark white lights brought everything into sharp focus. Marinette peered into the mirror. Oh. A bandage snaked around her head, to where, Marinette was realising, there was probably a wound.

She stood there blankly for a couple seconds.

Being Ladybug was a dangerous job, even with the limited healing magic a kwami could offer. But of course, she had yet to really meet her first akuma. She’d only heard the stories. Wished she could one day fight one. 

He head twinged again. Was that what an akuma attack could possibly do? Speaking of that…

Marinette made her own fumbling way back outside to the little basket she’d woven for Tikki one day. A sigh of relief issued from Marinette’s lips. The kwami was inside, looking worn and absolutely tired. 

Not entirely, Marinette thought absentmindedly, like herself. 

No matter. There was a first aid kit somewhere around in here. For a moment, the pain swelled, and it felt like someone was gripping the back of her skull, tightening his fingers to the point where it would begin to-

_ “-break everything, darling?” a low, purring voice called out. Marinette felt her jaw clench with another burst of rage. This was beginning to get out of hand. Still, brushing shards of porcelain from herself, Marinette got to her feet quickly, vision spinning. _

_ As it settled, an unfortunately familiar sight was in front of her. But there was a roar, and Marinette turned to face the strange creature which had decided that downtown Paris was an excellent place for a palace.  _

-subside, because of course it would subside, and Marinette, impulsively, pulled at the bandage, untying it and slowly sliding it off her head. Her mind felt fuzzled and her head was still throbbing.

There. The first aid kit was there. The cupboard, top left shelf.

Had she faced an akuma before? No, no, of course not, there was no way. Marinette definitely would’ve remembered that.

She pulled it open, and immediately, her fingers fumbled, and the kit went crashing to the ground, it’s contents scattering all over the floor. 

Marinette could feel a stirring of unpleasantly spiteful words inside her, and she slumped back onto the bed, closing her eyes and breathing. She needed to breathe. Air. She needed Tikki back. Needed to be Ladybug now, because at least there she was strong. 

“Breathe,” she told herself.

By the time her world stopped spinning, Marinette had begun her checklist of things to do. Firstly, she needed to treat whatever wound which had mysteriously appeared on her head. Second, she needed some water. Actually, no, Marinette decided, getting water would be first on her list.

Third: Find out what the hell had happened last night. 

Because her mind really wasn’t working properly, not at all, just like how earlier, she’d found herself facing off against-

_ “-you?” Marinette couldn’t help but exclaim in confusion. This really wasn’t the best time to do this, and she was really regretting suiting up today, of all days, when she needed to be doing something else.  _

_ Of course, she would do it anyway. Akumas had to be defeated.  _

_ It didn’t matter who else would be there fighting as well.  _

_ “Well, you don’t have much choice,” that rumbling voice called out, amused, as the akuma roared and sent shards of glass bursting through the air.  _

_ Marinette stifled a groan and leapt into the air, swinging her yo-yo out to propel her into a deadly kick slamming hard into the enchanted woman’s shoulder, sending her stumbling. _

_ Dropping lithely into a crouch, she scanned the creature quickly to find any trace of where the akuma could be hiding. _

_ “Come on, come on,” Marinette muttered to herself, before the woman let out a scream of outrage, sending a storm of shards into the air at the figure opposite her. _

_ Marinette, a single smooth motion, sent her yo-yo wrapping around the woman’s legs instantly. Before she even realised what was happening, Marinette gave a sharp pull, sending the woman sprawling forwards onto the ground. _

_ She froze there, trying to process what was happening. Her first akuma went down like that?  _

_ And how had she known to do that?  _

_ Marinette’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s remarkably sharp and stylish glass stilettos, which somehow seemed to be unbreakable.  _

_ She knew that they were unbreakable because seconds later, Marinette had to launch herself into a quick backflip to avoid a roundhouse kick from the woman which slashed straight through a nearby concrete pillar.  _

_ Mind racing, Marinette turned around to see several spears of razor-sharp glass racing towards her chest. _

_ Before she could even react, there was a blur of night-black, and a burning green light, and there was ash pouring onto the ground. And then he was on the woman, pounding her mercilessly with a series of quick hammer punches, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back. _

_ Marinette got up unsteadily. “The shoe! It’s in the shoe!” _

_ “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette saw his hand flash green again. Marinette relaxed, letting out a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. _

_ A glint of purple in his green eyes, and Marinette looked up, alarmed, a flick of her wrist sending her yo-yo flying towards the two. _

_ Just a fraction too late, as he thrust his hand, a burning brand of green, straight through the woman’s chest.  _

_ The yo-yo wrapped itself around his arm and Marinette pulled, sending him flying away.  _

_ “No!” _

_ The scream ripped itself from Marinette’s throat as she darted forwards to catch the woman, whose face, frozen in shock, was now limp as she slumped to the ground. Her yo-yo clattered to the ground behind her as he unwound the yo-yo from his arm and left. _

_ Marinette held the woman for a couple seconds, unwilling to think that- _

-she paused as she dabbed her head with a disinfectant soaked piece of gauze. What was going on? What had happened? 

And who was he? Then the memory dissolved into a haze of vague pain.

There was a knock on her door. Marinette froze. Did anyone know where she lived? Did she get visitors? Marinette tried to recall anything about her recent activities over the past couple of months, but was greeted instead with an ear-splitting deluge of pain.

Feeling her knees buckle, Marinette’s fingers barely managed to latch onto the sink in time, slowly lowering herself to the cold tiles, breathing heavily. 

The knocking was getting more frantic, and nearly out of pure pain, Marinette found herself stumbling over to the door, and nearly ripping it open, clutching her head in her other hand, attempting to pull breath into her lungs. 

The sudden disappearance of the door left Luka knocking at thin air, but he took in the situation instantly, lunging forwards to gather Marinette into his arms.

“Marinette!” His arms tightened around the woman, who shuddered, trying to think straight. “Hey...hey...it’s alright, it’s me, it’s okay...”

\--

The wind whipped over the skyline, it’s usual piercing cold stopping short when it approached him. This place, he thought, disinterested, no longer held anything really of value to him. It hadn’t really, not for a while.

Everything had all been part of the same game. 

He was growing bored. The man who had begun this game was growing sloppy. It was getting too easy for him to put down those creations of his. 

All too easy, until recently. 

Rooftops were excellent places to wait, but it seemed that the waiting would be too long. He had to force the game’s hand. Well, either that, or he would have to find his own fun while he waited.

There were ways to do that. 

He strode across the rooftop, his feet making no noise against the concrete rooftop. These days, he reflected, it was simple to lure the game into taking place. All it took was a good understanding of people, and what drove them.

That he could do. That he knew he could do.

His fingers curled into fists, almost in preparation, readying himself for what would happen next. 

The green power began to leak out of his fists again, and he dug his fingers deep into the antenna that protruded from this particular roof.

He was not a stupid man, and this rooftop had eventually been chosen after quite some deliberation. The antenna crumbled into ashes under his touch, and he moved on to watch. 

It hadn’t been too hard, not with his connections, to ascertain where exactly he needed to hit to disrupt the city’s traffic network. 

As much as he did revel in the wanton destruction he was capable of, he found equal satisfaction in the precision of a single strike.

He wondered if the game would continue as it usually did, sending out the Ladybug to deal with the akuma, again and again and again. He’d never really meant to join the game, exactly, and he was waiting to find it’s creator. 

The man who had turned him into...this. 

The rooftop door behind him slammed open, and a man, a technician, probably, panting, dressed in slacks, came through the door, clutching a phone. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he nearly yelled into the phone, “I know the whole damn system is down! Just let me-”

His words petered out as he looked up at the man. 

Who simply smirked. He knew what he looked like, not quite his choice, but he didn’t really regret it nonetheless. He was dressed in all black, tall, his forearms, shoulders, thighs and chest covered in jet-black armour over the tight leather suit. A domino mask covering burning emerald eyes. The cat ears were slightly annoying, but they had the additional effect of reminding other people (and himself) that, strictly speaking, he was not human. 

Good. Terror flooded the technician’s face as the Man in Black reached out and calmly took the phone from his trembling fingers.

“Now, we won’t be needing this anytime soon, will we?” the Man in Black said, flexing his fingers slightly, the claws sliding out quickly and crushing the phone, slicing it apart. 

Around them, cries of pain and the raucous cries of car alarms went off as Paris’ traffic began to collide in ways they weren’t supposed to, a single fly in the ointment destroying the system entirely.

And that, the Man in Black thought, was a perfect little metaphor for his plan. His eyes caught a glimpse of purple in the air around the man, who had since stumbled backwards and leaned against the door, shuddering. 

So, the Man in Black thought. There he is. 

“If you’re listening,” he said, “take this as a warning. I’ve played your game enough times. I’m going to be looking for the deeper game. The one you’ve tried to hide. You won’t make it.”

The technician slowly raised his head, his eyes eerily glinting purple. He smiled up at the Man in Black. 

“Really?” the technician asked. “I never would’ve guessed.”

The Man in Black watched carefully, one hand behind his back. “Oh, you still think you’re in total control.”

“I am,” the technician answered. “Or at least, in greater control than is necessary.”

“You know what I’m looking for.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t try to dodge it. I know what you have hidden away.”

The technician shrugged. “I don’t see the difference.”

The Man in Black bared his teeth in a smile. “There is one, the real game, and I’m going to find it.”

“Has something changed for you?”

“No. I’ve just grown bored.”

“Very well, then, if you insist. Find the game. Look for the maze.” The technician’s mouth froze. His muscles tensed. 

Silence reigned, although the Man in Black could still see the purple in the technician’s eyes. 

With an explosive expulsion of breath, the technician launched himself off the ground, hands outstretched. The Man in Black barely needed to move at all, and so he was faster.

His hand came out from behind his back, radiating energy, and he thrust it right through the technician’s chest, who stopped dead. The purple light, and most light, left his eyes. 

The Man in Black let the technician slip to the ground. He was still alive, of course. The same magic that let him punch through a human tended to seal one right back out if the Man in Black was to get what he wanted. But he would never be the same again. 

He unclenched the fist he had smashed through the technician’s chest. In it was a crushed, black butterfly. Useless. A weak show of strength.

The Man in Black dusted off his palms. 

“Now then,” he murmured, “Time to go see about some old friends before I go.”

\--

Luka set Marinette down gently onto her bed. She looked so fragile, pale and curled up like that. Luka paced back and forth, his fingers tapping, trying to figure out what to do. What had happened to her?

He’d never seen her like that before. There couldn’t have been an akuma attack, he would have heard of that. 

Besides, she’d never been let out to fight an akuma before. Tikki had never let her. No one really knew what killed those akumas, although some photographs seemed to show some red and black blurs alongside them.

Luka sighed. He needed to do something. Of course, there was his cooking skills, which were basically nonexistent. 

His phone began vibrating in his pocket, and Luka let out a breath of relief as he answered it. 

“Alya?”

“ Is she okay? I’ve been calling for hours! Hours! I’ve barely slept! ”

Luka glanced behind him at marinette, lying asleep, sweating into her pillow. “Yes, she’s...fine. Just a little banged up.”

“ Excuse me? Banged up? What happened to her? ”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Luka slowly walked towards the door. 

“I came in and found her already like this. I don’t know what exactly happened last night. Where was she last?” Luka was working his jaw, this time with his mind focused on what he could do. 

“ We went over to the Mariposa Diner for dinner. She wanted to stay for a while longer. So I left early. ”

“Then that’s where I’ll start.” Luka glanced behind him, towards the room where Marinette lay asleep still. He really could’ve stayed and made some chicken soup, but blowing up the oven again didn’t quite seem like the boost Marinette needed. 

Quietly, he closed the door behind him and headed to his car. He was lucky he’s just closed a case, they might let him off if they caught him doing something stupid like this. 

Luka reminded himself that it was for Marinette. Then he started the car, checking to make sure his pistol was still securely strapped to his waist. 

The streets were a little more subdued as Luka made his way towards the aforementioned Mariposa Diner. A quick search had pulled up a couple exterior shots of what looked like an American-styled building, complete with those strange doors that were present in every western saloon.

It didn’t exactly scream “your girlfriend got roughed up a little or got lost around here!” with a cardboard cowboy leaning against the side of the entrance and what seemed to be a large quantity of beer. 

Still, Luka figured, it was a start. He parked and got out of the car. Luka thought he heard his radio buzz, and winced. That would have to wait for later.

He stepped forward and into the diner. There was a decent number of people in the diner for the morning, and the scent of freshly cooked hash browns and pancakes drifted through the air. 

All the waiters and waitresses were dressed in an old formal, classic suits and some Wild West style dresses. There was a mild chatter around the area.

The tables, too, were wooden and round, and Luka could definitely see the charm of this place. It really did nail that Wild West aesthetic perfectly. He walked past the tables over to the counter, where the cashier sat with an old typewriter perched above the register. 

“Hi, and how can I help you today?” she smiled at him warmly. 

“Luka Couffaine, National Police. Nothing’s wrong, I just want to ask a couple questions about a friend of mine who was here last night.” Luka smiled back at her, the lopsided one which he’d been told to use by several female officers, flashing his badge. 

The cashier blinked a little. “Of course...”

“Detective,” Luka provided. 

“Detective Couffaine.”

Behind them the old saloon piano began to play on it’s own. It was slightly disconcerting at first, but Luka chalked it up to atmosphere and technology, and turned back to ask his questions.

“Did this girl come in last night?” Luka held up his phone, turned to a selfie of him with Marinette. The cashier peered at it. 

“Yes…I believe so. She came in with a friend. Had the pancakes. Hold on a second.” The cashier turned to call one of the waitresses. 

“Clementine!”

“Yes, Maeve?” she hurried over. 

Maeve gestured towards Luka. “Tell the nice detective about the girl and her friend from last night.”

Clementine peered at the photo. “Oh! Yes! Marinette, i think her name was. Nice girl. She really liked our maple syrup.”

“What time did she leave?” Luka asked, suppressing the grin that came with the mental image of Marinette obsessing over maple syrup. 

Behind them, the saloon piano continued to play, a light, bouncy tune that sounded just right for the Western aesthetic, but something in that tune did sound a little off. Luka spared a quick glance back. The saloon piano continued merrily playing itself. 

“Well, her friend left around 8, and then she ordered a milkshake and stayed until maybe 9?” Clementine said confidently. “Said something about needing to meet someone when I asked her.”

“What did you ask her?” Luka said, nonplussed.

“Well,” Clementine said airily, “at that time it seemed a shame, pretty lady like that drinking a milkshake all by her lonesome.”

Luka felt his cheeks flush, but kept his face straight. 

“So, when she left, did you notice anything? Direction, car or something?” Luka asked. This was looking all too innocent.

Clementine looked a little uncertain. 

“Answer him, come on!” Maeve said, a tinge of impatience creeping into her voice. 

“Well, she didn’t drive,” Clementine said, “but she had parked earlier.”

Luka looked out of a window at the parking lots out front. A couple of cars other than his own were there, but neither of them seemed suspicious like this was. 

“Marinette doesn’t have a car. You’re sure it wasn’t her friend?” Luka was really becoming intrigued now. 

“No,” Clementine shook her head, “she parked first, then waited outside until her friend came in and parked.”

“Give me a second,” Luka strode outside quickly, removing a notebook and a pen from his jacket, scribbling down the license plate numbers of the other three cars in the lot. Then he turned around and headed back inside. The saloon piano was still playing, and for some reason, that was really disconcerting. 

“Do you remember anything else?” Luka asked Clementine, looking down at the notebook. After a couple seconds passed, Luka looked up at Clementine.

She stood frozen, like a mannequin. So did Maeve. Luka tucked the notebook back into his coat and turned in a slow circle, his hand hovering near his gun. The entire diner seemed to have been frozen, the saloon piano playing over dead silence as customers froze mid-bite and waitresses mid-walk. 

When he completed his turn, only Luka’s professionalism prevented him from leaping backwards in surprise. 

A man, dressed in a black suit, sat at the saloon piano, letting his fingers fall in place with the automatic keys. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat, and from his build, seemed to be taller and stronger than Luka was. 

“Who are you?” Luka rested one hand on his pistol. 

“After all we’ve been through, you still don’t know who I am. You never do.” The man spoke in a low, purring voice. 

He stood from the saloon piano, which continued to play as he turned. The Man in Black wore a domino mask, and at his side, too, was a gun. It looked like a revolver. 

“Of course,” the Man in Black said conversationally, “You and I share some common goals. Common interests as it were. Girl named Marinette.”

Luka couldn’t quite stop himself, he drew his gun and pointed it at the Man in Black. 

“What the hell do you know about Marinette?” Luka snarled. 

“I know enough.” the Man in Black answered. “Might even say I know her better than you. Once, I might even say I loved her.”

Luka could feel anger welling up in him. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re coming with me.”

The Man in Black just sighed. “I’m not the man I used to be, but even back then I could’ve taken you.”

Luka disengaged the safety on his pistol. “Hands in the air.”

Shaking his head, the Man in Black stepped forwards. 

“This time isn’t even much of a challenge.”

Luka saw the Man in Black reach for his revolver, and opened fire, sending four shots straight into his chest and sending him staggering backwards into the piano. 

“Aim hasn’t gotten any sharper, Luka,” the Man in Black said conversationally, standing back upright. His clothes were barely singed. The piano continued to play. Luka stared in shock. 

Then he raised his gun and fired again. As he fired, the Man in Black simply stepped forward, shrugging off the bullets as though they were punches. Green sparks erupted from the places where the bullets should’ve hit the Man in Black. 

Finally, Luka’s finger was clicking an empty gun, and the Man in Black stood with his chest to the barrel.

“Still can’t quite believe it,” the Man in Black said.

Luka looked down at his gun again, then back up at the Man in Black, then drew his arm back and swung the butt of the pistol at his head. The Man in Black casually reached inside his guard and grabbed his elbow, stopping Luka in his tracks. 

“Little better,” the Man in Black acknowledged, before stepping forward and sending his elbow smashing into the base of Luka’s chin, switching to his other hand to hold Luka’s gun arm.

Luka staggered backwards, and the Man in Black hit Luka again with a punch to the throat, sending him doubling over, wheezing.

The Man in Black slammed Luka’s wrist against the counter, sending his fingers open and the gun clattering to the ground. An uppercut sent Luka sprawling onto his back. 

Gasping for breath, Luka managed to crawl to all fours, before a kick to his stomach sent him back down again. Luka tried to look outside, his voice still not coming to him. 

“No one’s coming for you, Luka.” The Man in Black almost smiled. “Just you and me. And after this, I’ll be visiting our prettiest friend. Sweet Marinette.”

Luka let out an outraged howl, and pushed himself to his feet, leaping at the Man in Black in a clumsy tackle. The Man in Black only moved once, to send a vicious left hook into Luka’s jaw, dropping him immediately.

He shook his head, and the Man in Black headed over to a nearby table, seating himself, snagging that customer’s milkshake and taking a long drink as Luka squirmed on the ground. 

“This place is an excellent location. The decorators really knew what they were doing when they made this place. Wonderfully realistic.” The Man in Black gestured to his surroundings. 

Luka, struggling to draw breath, spotted his pistol just a metre of so away. As the Man in Black continued to enjoy his breakfast, Luka dug his fingers in and dragged himself over to his gun. 

“I believe they actually hired someone who’d worked on Westworld. Great place, you should visit someday.” The Man in Black took some hash browns from across the table.

Reaching down to his belt, Luka pulled out the second magazine he kept on him. 

The Man in Black was using a napkin to wipe his mouth after some excellent hash browns when he heard the click from behind him. 

The saloon piano stopped playing.

“At least you waited for me to finish breakfast.” The Man in Black said, standing and turning. 

Luka opened fire immediately. 

\--

Marinette woke up in her bed, her head throbbing. But she did feel better, the cool feeling of the bandage against her wound soothing. How had she gotten to her bed? Had Luka really come? 

Marinette slid out of bed, suddenly thirsty. She poured herself a glass of water and drank greedily. She could feel a pulse of energy threading through her, and she turned to step towards where Tikki slept. 

Tikki would appreciate some food when she woke up, Marinette decided. She stepped over to stroke Tikki’s small body. 

When she touched the kwami, however, a radiant burst of light ran up Marinette’s arm and onto her head. It felt like a nice warm shower, and when the light subsided, Marinette hesitantly removed the bandage, prodding the area carefully.

Healed. 

“You’ve definitely earned some cookies,” Marinette smiled down at the sleeping kwami. She strode outside, minutes later, feeling much better, pain-free and happy. Of course, her memories of the previous night were still a blur, but Marinette figured that she could figure that out for the next time. 

Take life for the good things for now, right? She unlocked her bike from the rack, and began to pedal over to the nearby supermarket. As she was browsing the shelves, something came to her. A random memory. Meeting Luka again years after they’d both graduated school. Here. She’d-

- _ watched the tin of condensed milk slip from her fingers and onto the floor. Sighing, Marinette had silently cursed her own shaky hands. There was no way Tikki would ever let her out to fight when she could barely hold a can of milk.  _

_ By the time she noticed it was rolling, Marinette was too late to reach down and grab it, having been left staring out into nothing. As it rolled to a stop, it had hit Luka’s feet, and then he’d picked it up and turned to her. With recognition in his eyes, he’d said, “Don’t mind me. Just trying to look chivalrous.” _

_ Behind him a door swung shut. _

_ “So you did come back.” Marinette said, smiling. _

_ “I told you I would.” Luka said confidently. _

_ “Can I see you home?” He’d asked later, after Marinette had bought the milk.  _

_ “That depends,” Marinette said, shrugging. Back then, she’d rode a bike. She swung herself onto it. “Can you keep up?” she asked.  _

_ “Well, I’ll have to get my car,” Luka shrugged, gesturing at the police cruiser parked just beside them.  _

_ “Better get in fast,” Marinette grinned, quickly telling him her new address. She set off, slowing down to check if he’d followed. She looked behind her, and then back forward- _

-to look around her now. Marinette kept silent. She was back in the supermarket. It looked dark, all the lights were out, no one was there, although the late morning sun was filtering in through the windows. 

She spun around, trying to figure out what was going on when suddenly, the lights flickered back on, and the murmur of people moving flooded back into her ears, and breathing hard, Marinette found herself back in the normal supermarket. 

Something was happening, and Marinette wasn’t sure if it was happening to her or to the world. 

\--

Just as before, all the bullets sparked away as they hit the Man in Black, although from the way he flinched, some of the impact was still getting through. Once again, Luka found himself clicking an empty gun, as the Man in Black shook his head in disappointment as the last of the green sparks faded. 

“Alright, then.” 

Luka felt his fingers shake, and tightened his grip on the empty gun. 

“My turn.”

In a single fluid motion, the Man in Black drew his revolver and fired, a single, accurate shot that carved a furrow in the top of Luka’s forearm, the shot practically deafening. 

Luka fell to the ground, his gun tumbling from his fingers, as he clutched his arm. “Shit!”

The Man in Black tossed a tablecloth at Luka. “I’m expecting that you won’t let yourself bleed to death. I only grazed your arm, didn’t want to put a hole straight through. Don’t worry, there’ll be an ambulance nearby.”

The Man in Black began to step forwards, towards the door, his footsteps loud in the silence. 

“Amazing how fast they can respond when you clear a couple roads.”

Luka continued to groan in pain as the Man in Black’s footsteps began to fade. 

“I’ll give Marinette your best,” he called as he left. 

The moment he was out of sight, the entire diner burst back into life, Clementine chatting with Maeve, customers eating, waitresses stepping around Luka and the pool of blood he was lying in as though he wasn’t there. 

The sounds of sirens were coming in, growing louder. 

Luka held the tablecloth to his wound and watched it turn red with his blood. 

The saloon piano began to play again.

A bright melody, and just under that, darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like it! The song really seemed to fit with the Westworld aesthetic, so I do recommend watching Westworld, though you don't need to in order to understand the plot. It'll be darker toned but I'll try to keep it a little upbeat. Next chapter, we will meet Adrien Agreste, so stay tuned. 
> 
> If anyone is curious what the saloon piano is playing, I imagine it to be "Sweetwater" off the Westworld season 1 soundtrack by Ramin Djawadi.


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